


Worse Places at the End of the World

by runrarebit



Category: South Park
Genre: Butters has a huge penis, Cartman has a tiny penis, Contemplative, Fivesome, M/M, Not!Zombie apocalypse, Past Drug Use, Sadism, Scars, Trauma, Unsafe Sex, Violence, kink:choking, kink:dirty talk, kink:feet, kink:feminization, kink:kind of gross sex, kink:respecting people's boundaries, kink:rimming, kink:throat fucking, kink:vomit, kink:weight, shady government agencies, unpleasant smells associated with sex, written in second person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1317211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runrarebit/pseuds/runrarebit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year or so after almost everyone in South Park came down with some kind of infection which destroyed family ties, tightened the bonds of friendship and made pretty much everyone try (and often succeed) to kill pretty much everyone else, the survivors have recovered most of their wits and have settled in to their new existence behind the high, electrified fence which encircles the town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worse Places at the End of the World

The cart isn’t heavy yet, but you know it’s going to be later. Stan will try to help you when it is, but you’ll say no and hope he’ll argue with you. Not that you’ll let him pull it if he does argue, but it would be a sign that things are getting better. 

There are scars on Stan’s arms. Bite marks. You can remember when they were red and raw, threatening serious infection, just as you can remember when the skin around them darkened to black and then turned pale, sickly green. Now they’re silvery. They catch the light. 

You’re not sure whose teeth they match. You can guess. You don’t want to know for sure. You probably even saw some of it, but that’s lost to the red haze and you don’t want it back. 

Stan seems small to you now. This may be because he is small, comparatively at least. Craig is shorter, Tweak’s skinnier, but Stan’s smaller than the rest of you. The you that really matter. Stan, Kyle, Cartman, Butters and yourself.

He darts a glance at you, just making sure he knows where you are, and grants you a small, tight smile when he catches you looking. The days have been hot recently so you’re both in threadbare t-shirts. You remember the weeks after it ended and you all had to make him show you his arms so you could check they were healing. It’s probably better now that he’s not so ashamed. 

You readjust your belt as the tire-iron pulls it low on your hips once more. You have a heavy wooden post in one hand, a knife strapped to your ankle and a pistol hanging from your waist opposite the tire iron. Stan’s less overtly armed; he never went through the change, never fell into the red haze, and is still squeamish about killing. He’s not allowed out without at least one weapon though, and he’s not allowed anywhere the rest of you aren’t sure is safe. Even then one of you always goes with him.

Cartman and Butters are off on their kind of business and Kyle’s inventorying your supplies, so today you’re with Stan. Sometimes you wish he’d resent the constant company, you think that maybe if he did that would be a sign he’s starting to get over whatever happened to him, but at the same time you like that you can make him feel safe. Anyway, he does seem better than he was at the start.

Today you’re searching houses for anything you can use. Not the obvious things you all took first, like food and blankets, but clothing, batteries and light bulbs. Small things. 

This part of your territory is pretty safe. None of you come here that often outside of patrols, and rarely stay long, but it buttes up against both Wendy’s and Token’s parts of the town so you’re not that worried. You trust them to keep their territories in order and to keep outsiders out, in as much as you’re capable of trusting anyone these days not part of your close circle of friends. Just like they trust all of you to do the same.

This territory is technically Cartman’s. Not even Kyle really complains about that fact, considering Cartman’s role in the cleansing of the town and his continued role in masterminding ways to keep the government out. Some situations actually benefit from giving a petty little sociopath power. 

All the violence seems to have actually calmed him down a little. Which is good. You think sometimes that if he didn’t listen to reason when one or more of you disagree with him over something he’s obviously wrong about, then you would probably have to do something about him. Something permanent. Not a thought you relish, because awful as he is you’re all strangely fond of him. You’d also have to do something permanent about Butters because he’d never forgive you, which in a way would be worse, not because you’re more attached to him, but because he’s the strongest and without Cartman’s mind and Butters’ body you’d probably lose your territory quickly.

You remember what it was like before the red haze, all of you do, though Stan, Bebe and Michael the goth kid are probably the only ones left who still think the way you all did before. You remember how you felt about your family, and how you felt about the girls (and occasional guy) you fucked, and even the friendships you had outside the core group. You also sort of remember stabbing your father, though you’re not sure if it’s something you made up just to try and torment yourself, even though you feel nothing at the thought.

Whether it’s real or not that’s the last memory you have as the haze set in. You sort of remember blood and pale bodies moving together in the wreckage of someone’s house. You sort of remember feeling lost, like there was something missing.

Your first real memory from after is of watching Kyle slam his fist into Randy Marsh’s face again and again and again until all that was left was pulp and shards of bone, while Cartman and Butters ripped something red and wet apart with their bare hands in the background. Your first real memory is also of watching Stan watch this happen with eerily blank eyes.

You look over to him to find him standing in the middle of the street, staring at the houses with those same blank eyes. “This one?” he says, half statement, half question, pointing to one of the houses. The front door has been kicked in, two of the windows smashed, but you don’t worry too much about any unpleasant surprises. In the days after, before the territories were set out and the patrols finalised, everyone who could worked together to gather up the bodies and bury them in a mass grave on the outskirts of town. It was Wendy’s idea, not that much protest lasted after she explained all the ways a town full of corpses could bring vermin and disease.

Your group now lives in Kyle’s house. The reason you do this is that Kyle’s parents and Ike were out of town when the haze hit, out of the country in fact; in Canada for some reason that’s never been particularly clear to you. This meant less blood and mess, so Kyle’s house needed less cleaning before you could all move in, and none of the windows were broken. Part of it is also because of Stan. The thought perhaps he would feel safe somewhere he knew.

You nod and head towards the house, listening carefully for suspicious noises. You hear nothing but the rats scuttling to hide as you walk inside. The inside is a bit of a mess, obvious signs of a struggle everywhere you look, and dark, rust colored stains you’re sure are dried blood. You don’t think about whose house this was, or what happened to them, or whether what happened to them was you yourself.

Together you move through the rooms, picking over what’s left. A lot of it is broken or torn on the bottom floor, but upstairs you have better luck. You find some batteries, always useful even though the government sent in some solar generators in the weeks after the haze wore off. They generators are pretty shitty though, and there’s barely enough to go round. Wendy’s been working on some plan for a better, more permanent power supply, but you’re not sure how far she’s gotten. At least the water supply and sewerage system still work, for now at least. You’ve got some ideas for if they go down, but you’re hoping they won’t.

As you sort through closets and drawers, gathering up piles of clothes that might fit and might be of any use. Every now and then you glance over to Stan and wonder what he’s thinking. The red haze happened less than a month before he was supposed to be off to college. You wonder if packing up other people’s belongings makes him think of the chances he’s missed.

None of you are ever leaving this town, not alive at least. Hell, there’s every chance the government will get sick of keeping the area contained and decide to nuke the whole place off the map any day now. Cartman and the other leaders regularly meet to discuss how to prevent that from happening, but you’re not sure even Cartman’s particular brand of wicked cunning will save you all in the end.

You swipe a barely used bottle of Coco Mademoiselle from on top of a dresser, out of place in a tray full of cheap celebrity fragrances. Maybe you’ll wear it yourself, maybe you’ll spray it on Cartman and lick the bitter taste of it from his neck and tits. You find a pink silk negligee in the top drawer and add it to the pile, already imagining the feel of the cloth against your skin. This isn’t new. By the time the haze hit you’d already seen too much, done too much, and had too much happen to you to be really bothered that you’ve never quite fit the mould.

The light coming in from the window hits your own arms and shows up your own scars. Track marks in the pit of your elbow that match the ones on your thighs. Things weren’t so good for you in the lead up to the red haze. You were being left behind.

It’s been a while now since you’ve died, though plenty has happened that should have killed you. Plenty has happened to all of you, but you don’t even get sick anymore. Not even Stan gets sick, and those bites on his arms, almost bone deep in places and angry red, should have gotten infected. They probably should have killed him, untended as they’d been for so long. The human mouth is a filthy thing after all.

This seems to support Red’s theory that those that seem unaffected by the red haze actually contracted it without suffering the worst of the symptoms. Kind of a Typhoid Mary thing. 

No one is sure how it’s spread, all you know is that almost anyone who sets foot in South Park goes feral. No matter how much protective gear the people the government sends in are wearing, within minutes they’re ripping it off and attempting to rip apart anyone who comes near them. Most of the time they’re executed, most of the time by Cartman; who enjoyed that kind of thing before the haze and loves it now. Sometimes they’re contained to see how they behave and executed once their continued existence is no longer of any value. Usually this happens when they come back from the haze. This is what Cartman and Butters are doing right now.

 

Even if Cartman wasn’t around to do most of the killing someone else would do the deed. No one seems to be able to stand the idea of outsiders in the town, no matter their state of mind or their intentions.

Most of the survivors are your age, from the same class in school, or younger and older friends or siblings of people in your class. Like your sister, who was friends with some of the farm kids, and whose territory now provides the rest of you with most of the meat you eat. Everyone was known to everyone else before, and everyone was, at one time or another, an ally, friend or enemy of everyone else.

Close circles of friends now stick together like packs, but while you meet other circles of friends with faint suspicion you don’t feel the need to kill on sight. The divisions are sometimes strange, sometimes including pre-existing romantic relationships and sometimes splitting couples up. Token and Nichole, who have been together since they were kids, are part of the same group, but Wendy is mildly hostile to Stan and you’re pretty sure she’s now fucking Bebe. Wendy’s group is something like a mirror of your own, containing nothing but girls and obsessed with keeping Bebe safe.

You can’t blame them. You and Bebe fucked around for a while before and even now you’re still a little fond of her. She was always good to you, even liked it when you wore a skirt while fucking her, and she is really fucking hot. You hope Wendy treats her right.

Red thinks there must be a reason that your class makes up most of the survivors, and says in the middle of the haze she can remember having the chance to attack Craig and Clyde, who are not in her group, and instead ignoring them to go after Clyde’s dad. 

If any of you could really remember then maybe you’d have a better idea of why you all survived. Even Stan, Bebe and Michael the goth kid aren’t much help, because they didn’t end up with the same kind of mind set as the rest of you and spent a fair bit of the time having horrible things happen to them and watching their friends do horrible things, often to the people who did horrible things to them in the first place. Which were often their own family members.

Stan throws an unopened bottle of lube onto the pile of clothes. You look over to him, he shrugs “It’s silicone based.”

You are all rather too aware that the way things are going someday soon someone is going to have to ask the government for sexual lubricant to be added to the supplies it delivers every month. You wonder if that will be the final straw that leads to nuclear annihilation. You’re not sure the government wants you buttfucking on the taxpayers’ dime.

You can imagine the faces of the soldiers on the other side of the tall, electrified fence as they manoeuvre the remote controlled truck full of bags of flour and sugar and salt, crates of cans, the occasional fresh vegetable, toilet paper and lube through the gate and into the rigidly patrolled airlock that separates South Park from the rest of America. On the day it happens you’ll probably be left behind guarding Stan, because, while you’re one of the better fighters left, you’re not as strong as Butters, as good with a Sniper rifle as Kyle, or as rat cunning and good at spotting a trap as Cartman.

When you’re done upstairs you make your way into the garden to see if there's anything in the shed. There are squirrels flittering about that run up a tree and watch you as you walk past. You wonder if you’ll ever reach the point you have to eat squirrels and rats; if it wasn’t for your sister and her group you suspect you may have already reached that point. The food the army sends is not particularly appetising.

You realise you’ve lost track of Stan, just for a moment, and feel a surge of panic. A moment’s glance around tells you the shed door is open, and once you rush forward he’s easy to spot, standing by some wooden shelves and looking at something he’s holding. 

“We should probably try to grow our own food,” he says, and you see he’s holding a dusty gardening book. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I think it’s a good idea.” He gives you a small, nervous smile. “I think I’d like to do that. Maybe-” he trails off, not quite meeting your eyes. “I mean, it’s a thing I’d like to do and maybe that way I’ll be more useful.”

You don’t tell him he’s plenty useful now. You don’t tell him you all need him. These things have been said before and they don’t seem to help. What you do say is “Good idea. Is there anything here that could help?”

You both collect old seed packets and gardening tools, him never letting go of the book, and then start taking everything back to the cart. 

You do another couple of houses after that one, finding everything much the same. You take batteries, clothes, dusty cans of food no one wanted the first time around, unused seed packets and another bottle of lube as well as a couple of jars of Vaseline. You take jewellery as well, not because it’s worth anything, but because you think you might like to wear it one day, or maybe drape one of the others in it.

Once you’ve both had enough you head back to Kyle’s house. You wonder if Butters and Cartman will be back yet. If they are you can guess the kind of mood Cartman will be in.

At the end of the driveway Stan stops you with a hand on your arm, you look over to him and he gives you a small, sincere smile, before leaning in and planting a gentle kiss on the edge of your mouth. He moves back, but before he can get very far you catch him and move in close. “Is this ok?” you ask, your lips less than an inch from his. He nods. You lean in and kiss him properly.

It’s not an aggressive kiss, not a hungry, wanting kiss, it’s just simple and honestly affectionate and lasts until it’s comfortable to pull away. “Come on,” you say, dragging the cart into the garage.

You’re kind of hungry, and you’re pretty sure Stan is too, so instead of unpacking right away you go into the house and head to the kitchen. There’s fresh bread, made by Cartman from this month’s rapidly dwindling flour supply, and some tough, leftover beef from last night. You make sandwiches for the both of you with butter your sister may have churned, and drink plain water from the tap. You suspect some of the farms on the outskirts of town are going to have to be turned over into wheat production sometime soon, but you’re not sure anyone actually knows how to grow it. 

Kyle comes into the room while you and Stan sit at the table and eat in silence. He leans down and smells the air over Stan’s head, giving you a small, grim smile before pressing a kiss to dark hair. He then goes to make his own sandwich. 

As you eat you tell Kyle about what you and Stan found, Kyle tells you both about your supply situation, and eventually Stan mentions that he’s thinking of starting a vegetable garden. Kyle likes the idea. You watch as they kiss, as Kyle pulls Stan into his lap. They fit together nicely. Kyle’s height curling around Stan in a way that’s pleasing to the eye.

While they’re kissing you hear the front door slam open and then a rough thud. There are grunts and the sound of Cartman swearing. Stan gets off Kyle and all three of you go out to greet your returned friends.

They’re on the floor, Butters’ bulk pinning Cartman down. You can see blood, both their hands are red and there’s some on Cartman’s face when he looks up at you all. His eyes are almost black, their pupils so dilated.

Butters is grinding against him, muttering obscenities into the soft flesh of Cartman’s neck. “You want it?” you hear him mutter “You want my dick in you? Want me to fuck you? Get my dick all dirty in your filthy hole?”

Cartman shudders, his heels kicking against the floor. 

You can feel your blood heating, your dick getting hard, and a glance at Kyle and Stan tells you that you’re not the only one. “Hey Fatass,” Kyle says, though it’s a lot more affectionate than the way he used to say it. “You think maybe you’d like to move this somewhere a bit more comfortable. Maybe somewhere other than in front of the open door?”

Cartman whines and groans, his fleshy body surging up against Butters. “Yeah, ok, just…” he trails off when Butters whispers something that sounds a hell of a lot like “Make you lick my dick clean” against his ear. 

You and Kyle share a look and step towards them, reaching down and prying Butters off Cartman. This is not an easy task, Butters is taller even than Kyle, and physically solid. His body is all chiselled lines and slabs of muscle. Together you get him part of the way up, revealing the blood soaked into the front of his t-shirt and smeared between his body and Cartman’s, before you’re forced to hand him over to Kyle to drag him the rest of the way. You’re of average height, which would be more impressive if you weren’t in the company of the two tallest guys in town (even before most of the town died bloody and screaming).

You reach down for Cartman and help him stagger to his feet, watching the jiggle of his flesh beneath threadbare cotton. He’s still overweight but he’s not as large as he was, more exercise, less to eat, and no junk food has seen to that. You kind of miss it though, the ripple and shudder of him getting fucked at his fattest. The way your bodies would sink so fully into the folds of him when you started this thing between you all. It’s been at least a year now, coming up to a year and a half, you think, since the red haze faded.

Cartman’s shorter than you, only an inch or so taller than Stan, and without Stan’s perfect features and fine bone structure. You used to wonder if Stan would end up a model, he has the face for mid nineties Calvin Klein.

Cartman’s not ugly, though he’ll never really be good looking. When he’s still and his mind is elsewhere he’s really kind of plain, with a forgettable face, but that changes when he’s moving. It’s the force of his personality, the way he inhabits himself, that makes him either hideous or handsome.

When he regains his balance he darts in for a rough kiss that’s mainly teeth, before pushing away from you and grabbing for Butters. “Want your fucking dick in me,” he mutters against Butters mouth as they make their way deeper into the house, groping at each other and not looking where they’re going as they bounce off walls and kiss in a way that makes their lips bleed. Stan pushes the door shut and all of you follow the few steps to where their patience seems to have run out, because Butters is ripping off Cartman’s clothes as best he can while they grind on each other.

They were pretty wrapped up in each other before the haze and it’s only gotten worse since. You catch them fucking at odd hours and in strange places, when the rest of you are too tired or too busy worrying. None of you mind and they like it when you join in. 

You were worried for Butters when he and Cartman first hooked up. All of you were. You all thought Cartman must have been using him, was probably hurting him when Butters started showing up with bruises. This lasted until the first time you saw them fuck, saw Butters hauling Cartman around, slapping him and pulling his hair, while Cartman just wailed for more. 

For all his deep, undeniable sadism Cartman gets off on being degraded. Provided it’s one of you doing the degrading, and provided you don’t try it anytime other than when you’re fucking; he’s vindictive and deeply unpleasant if you try it any other time.

As you watch Butters gets Cartman naked, pushes him face down on the carpet and buries his square jawed, all-American face in Cartman’s ass. Cartman squeals like a pig being slaughtered and grinds his hips back, shuddering against Butters tongue as the taller man paws and gropes at his ass and thighs, broad palms and thick fingers digging into soft, pale, stretch-marked skin. 

You glance over to Stan and Kyle when you spot movement out of the corner of your eye. Kyle is pulling Stan in close, sliding his long fingered hands up under the smaller man’s shirt as he leans down to kiss him. He pulls away long enough to say “Can you get the lube Kenny?” before leaning in again, not even waiting for you to answer. 

You roll your eyes and shrug, stripping off your own t-shirt as you head upstairs. This tends to happen, at least at the start, but experience has told you that you don’t need to worry. You’ll get yours by the end. 

Maybe one of them will fuck you; you’re kind of in the mood for it. 

You strip the rest of your clothes off on the way to fetch the half empty bottle and hurry back downstairs. Cartman’s always horny after killing someone, and you don’t know if it’s the killing or because of how Cartman gets, but Butters is the same.

Butters is still tonguing Cartman’s ass when you get back, faint, moist noises ringing in the air with the movements of his jaw. Cartman’s face is turning red, both because of the blush and because he’s got a bit if carpet burn on his cheek that you see as he turns his head and follows your movements with hazy eyes. He grunts, eyes rolling up in his skull as it looks like Butters bites him.

Stan and Kyle are on the floor by the sofa, mostly naked and kissing intently. You watch as Kyle gropes at Stan’s ass, squeezing the cheeks and pulling them apart.

You’re not quite sure how all of you reached this point. It makes sense only until you think about it properly and then you can’t help wondering why it seems like such a good idea, why you like it so much. You’ve known them so long, been through so much, witnessed and engaged in so much disgusting and awful behaviour that the very thought of fucking any of them should gross you out, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s just that fucking is a good way to while away the time in the long stretches that TV and X-box would have once filled. 

Maybe it’s because fucking is a good excuse not to actually talk.

Kyle and Stan look up at when you approach, their faces both blank and humorless. You hand the lube to Kyle, who will use it to fuck Stan and maybe lose himself for a while. 

About a month after the haze lifted Kyle’s parents came to the edge of the electric fence, scared and confused and led by the government who tried to make them convince Kyle to convince everyone to surrender and let the scientists in. 

After a lot of debate everyone finally agreed to let a small team inside the fence. They went feral within the hour and had to be put down, rather gleefully by Cartman and Butters, but with the same grim determination from Kyle that you remember as he killed Randy Marsh.

You haven’t talked to Kyle about how the haze affected him, but sometimes you suspect he was more conscious than a lot of you. Perhaps that’s because his family was out of town, you think it might be a reasonable hypothesis that those that killed their family members first might have surrendered deeper into the haze so as not to think about what they’d done. At least before they changed enough not to care anymore.

Kyle was grim before the scientists had to be killed, but he’s particularly humourless now. You know his parents sometimes come to the fence in the hope of seeing him, but you also know he won’t go near them. You think maybe he’s ashamed they saw him like that.

Kyle slicks up his fingers and slides one into Stan, who sighs and squeezes his eyes closed, fingers clenching against the ropey muscles of Kyle’s upper arms. You’re not entirely convinced Stan really enjoys being fucked. You don’t think he doesn’t like it, and he certainly seems to enjoy it more than fucking one of the rest of you, but there’s something closed off in him since whatever happened to him during the haze. 

You almost pity them, Stan and Kyle, at least in comparison to Butters and Cartman’s blissful enjoyment of the current state of affairs, and your own quiet acceptance of things. 

You watch Stan’s contemplative face for a moment before scooping up the bottle of lube and walking across the room to deliver it to Butters. You know well enough that the lack of lube won’t stop Cartman and Butters, a thought that still makes you cringe a little. Butters’ dick isn’t small, either in length or in girth, and you suspect that if it wasn’t was for whatever physiological effects the haze has had on them he’d have given Cartman a fissure by now. As it is you’re still surprised sometimes that Cartman’s ass isn’t completely busted.

Cartman is pretty much a helplessly whining, drooling mess by now, pushing weakly back against Butters’ face. At your approach Butters finally detaches, looking up at you with a red, spit covered face and puffy lips.

You pass over the lube and watch him shove his jeans down to his knees to slick his dick up. He shuffles in close, hunched over Cartman’s back, but stops when Cartman reaches back and grabs him by the hair. “Wanna turn over,” Cartman mumbles. Butters pulls back, grabs Cartman by the thighs and flips him onto his back, reaching down and guiding his dick inside before Cartman’s flesh has even stopped rippling from the movement. 

Butters starts a punishing pace, punching little yelps out of Cartman with every thrust. You watch the way short, fat little fingers scrabble at Butters shoulders, his neck, his upper arms while Cartman’s short, fat little legs kick up into the air. Butters leans in to kiss him before pulling back, wrapping his huge, solid arms around Cartman’s thighs and yanking him back into his thrusts.

You leave them to it, turning your attention back to Kyle and Stan. 

Kyle has Stan on his belly, fingers buried deep inside while he kisses the back of the other man’s neck. Stan’s moving back against Kyle, hips rolling in slow and steady invitation. Kyle pulls his hand away and guides his long dick inside, slow and steady, making Stan shudder. They fuck slowly, slower than the rolling surge of Cartman and Butters, Kyle’s face still pressed against the back of Stan’s neck.

This is the moment you don’t like. This is the feeling you always try to swallow down, this sense that you aren’t needed, that you aren’t necessary, that you might as well disappear and they wouldn’t even notice. Most of the time you can pretend you never feel it, but in the moments you watch your friends couple off and fuck as if you’re not even there it tends to well up inside of you and threaten to swallow you whole. 

Still, watching them turns you on. It’s not a fiery, inescapable kind of arousal, but a slow burn that you let yourself surrender to, sinking down onto the rough carpet and sliding your hands between your thighs. You lie back where you can see them, and start to jerk off slowly.

Butters has one of his huge hands on Cartman’s neck, pushing into the soft flesh there and cutting off Cartman’s air supply. Cartman’s already red in the face, eyes hazy and unfocussed, but one of his own hands is closed over Butters’, keeping it in place. The first time you saw them do this it freaked you out and you found yourself lunging forwards to pull Butters away, only to get yelled at by Cartman. Now you trust Butters to know when to let go.

You reach for the lube, lying discarded on its side, and slick up your hands. Your left goes back to lazily jerking off, while your right slides further back, fingertips circling your own asshole. You shudder at the sensation, a surge of want rushing through you. You’re tight and smooth inside, blood warm around your own fingers. You don’t bother hunting out your prostate, instead savouring the stretch and the thought someone might give it to you properly later.

A glance over at Stan and Kyle shows you they’ve started to speed up, the fingers of one of Kyle’s hands buried in Stan’s mouth. It’s not the hand that fingered him open. Stan doesn’t like anything that’s been anywhere near someone’s ass anywhere near his mouth, whether it be fingers, tongue or anything else. He has no taste for rimming, and you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t miss it if you all swore off penetrative sex right then and there.

As you watch Kyle’s fingers move deeper until they trigger Stan’s gag reflex, making his whole body convulse and making Kyle’s thrusts stagger before speeding up, getting harder. 

Kyle does it again and again and Stan doesn’t complain, even when it makes his eyes water. You can’t help think he can’t be enjoying it, even though you know Kyle likes the way it makes Stan’s body convulse and tighten around his dick. Stan doesn’t fight it though, just lets Kyle do what he wants.

Your friends have weird sex habits, this is not something you can deny, and not all of it does anything for you, but you don’t judge because you know you have weird sex habits too and not all of what you’re into appeals to all of them.

Butters has released Cartman’s throat and is sitting back on his heels, working on getting them both off. His big hand dwarfs Cartman’s tiny little dick. You’ve heard him call it Cartman’s ‘cute, little clitty’ before, but he’s not doing it now. Butters likes to talk dirty, which you’d never guess from looking at him. Cartman shudders with his every movement, close but not quite there yet. An idea, sugar sweet temptation, comes over you so you pull your fingers out and roll to your knees, crawling over to Butters and Cartman.

Butters looks up at you with mild curiosity and then understanding, pulling his hand away as you move to straddle Cartman. Cartman’s flesh is soft and pillowy, even where it’s deflated from weight loss, and his tits bounce with every thrust of Butters’ hips. You’ve titty-fucked him before and you’ll probably do it again, it feels good and he likes it when you cum on his face after. His skin feels smooth, like silk between your thighs as he looks up at you, sweaty and hazy and pink in the face. You reach back for his little pink dick, fingers stroking some left over lube over the few inches of it, before you sit back, guiding the head inside.

Getting fucked by Cartman isn’t the most exciting sensation and doesn’t really quench the want inside of you. You can’t move hard or fast, because he’ll slip out, but even though his dick is only about two and a half inches long it’s wide enough to stretch your hole open and make your thighs shake. You sit there and clench down on him, loving the way it makes his hips jump and Butters swear. 

When all of you started this thing and before he lost that weight it was only about an inch long, the rest buried under the fat of his groin. There’s still at least an inch in there, and maybe if he loses more weight his dick may even reach a whole four inches long. In some ways you think that’d be a pity, you prefer it tiny and cute, and like the way the whole thing fits in your mouth. 

“Kenny,” Cartman whines beneath you, scrabbling for your hair and pulling your head down. As you lean in to kiss him you feel Butters give him a particularly hard thrust that has his hips lunging up against you, the first few squirts of his cum spraying inside you until your leaning forwards has him slip out and paint the rest over the skin of your crack. You kiss him for a moment longer as you feel Butters grinding his load into Cartman’s ass behind you. 

When Butters is done you dismount and watch them kiss for a moment, lazy and full of tongue, before you turn your attention to Stan and Kyle, feeling Cartman’s cum smear across your ass and the tops of your thighs as you move.

Kyle is almost sobbing as he humps into Stan, his fingers buried in the dark haired man’s mouth to the knuckle. Stan is convulsing underneath him, spit smeared all around his mouth and dribbling from his chin onto the floor. You see the moment it becomes too much, the moment he reaches up and pulls Kyle’s fingers from his mouth so he can turn his head and heave a thin stream of vomit onto the floor by his head. 

Kyle grabs at him, fingers groping aimlessly at his body as the taller man hunches forward and comes, mouthing mindlessly at the back of Stan’s neck. 

Stan lies in Kyle’s arms and shudders, looking wrecked and out of it, his pretty dick still hard and pressed against his belly. This is the point you should look away, the moment Kyle starts whispering “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” against Stan’s skin, but you don’t. You’ve all seen it before. In a way you feel like you need to watch, you need to witness it.

After a moment Kyle pulls away, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to the skin of Stan’s shoulder and wiping at his mouth gently with his comparatively clean hand. Stan is still shaking, looking out of it, but he moves into Kyle’s hand like a cat being petted.

Kyle helps Stan to his unsteady feet and leads him away from the shallow puddle of puke. Stan’s shaking, his dick bouncing against his belly with every step. Kyle starts to push him towards the sofa but he mumbles out “No. Kenny.” his voice wrecked and raw.

It jolts through you, the sound of your name. 

Kyle guides Stan over to you and surrenders him into your hands, helping him to the floor in front of you. Stan moves onto his back and spreads his legs, reaching down to hold his dick and balls out of the way so he can display to you the wet mess Kyle’s made of him. Before you can move forward Kyle leans down and presses a kiss to your lips, slipping his tongue inside for a second before pulling away. As you move forward between Stan’s legs you watch Kyle pad over to where Cartman is sucking Butters’ dick clean, mouth stretched obscenely wide as he tries to swallow down Butters’ girth.

Sometimes you feel appallingly average. Average height, average looks, average build, average dick. You’re not really conventionally good looking like Butters and Stan, or unconventionally good looking like Kyle, or whateverthefuck Cartman is; you’re just you. 

You slip a couple of fingers inside Stan and lean down to kiss him gently, ignoring the faintly sour taste of vomit in his mouth. “Do you want this?” you ask against his lips. 

He nods. Grates out “Fuck yeah. Kenny.”

You pull your fingers out and guide yourself inside, smiling at the way he sighs and moves against you. The way he’s clenching down on your dick makes you think he must be close, all primed to go off without having his trigger pulled.

The rhythm you set is slow and steady, each thrust perfectly timed and aimed to hit him in the sweet spot. He jerks and shudders against you every time you push in, and almost bites your tongue more than once, but right now you feel good. Your dick’s having a good time in the tight, heat of him, gliding in and out through the wetness of Kyle’s cum, and you know you’re a good fuck. You know what you’re doing, how and when to move to make it good for whoever you’re with.

A sound behind you makes you pull your mouth away from Stan’s and turn your head to see Butters crawling across the carpet towards you. He smiles a wide, handsomely blonde smile as he leans in close and tells you “I wanna lick your pussy out.”

The words shoot through you, making you lose your stride and grind against Stan helplessly. Butters leans in and kisses you roughly, and then adds “You’d like that, wouldn’t you Princess?” You’re pretty sure you can taste Cartman’s ass in Butters’ mouth. The thought that Stan’s probably not going to want to kiss you again crosses the back of your mind, but most of you is too preoccupied with how much you want what Butters is offering.

“Yeah,” you say, focusing on regaining your rhythm for Stan. You smirk over your shoulder and add “Eat my pussy.”

Butters lets out a contented rumble of noise and leans down, large hands clenching around your hips as he runs his tongue over a smear of Cartman’s cum, cleaning you up. You turn your attention back to Stan, who’s letting out these tiny little moans with your every thrust. He’s biting the knuckles of one hand, the other down between his legs, cupping his dick and balls. You grind into him slowly, pressing against his prostate until the hand leaves his mouth and grabs at your shoulder. 

Butters’ tongue slides up your crack, lapping over your hole, before pushing its way inside. You groan, your hips jerking forward helplessly, and swear as this finally sets Stan off, making him clench around you as he cums into his own hand. Stan jerks and shakes like he’s being electrocuted beneath you, his feet kicking out and managing to hit Butters, who pulls away with a soft curse. 

The moment Stan finishes shooting you pull out of him and climb off, knowing how hypersensitive he becomes and how much he can’t stand being touched for a while after. A couple more touches and you could make him cum again, but he doesn’t like it so you don’t. He’s still shaking, every now and then twitching almost uncontrollably as a full body aftershock rolls through him. 

“‘s good Kenny,” he mumbles out, reaching for you, but pulling away before his fingers can touch, even them too sensitive so do anything more than clasp at empty air.

You sit back on your heels, feeling kind of frustrated. Your dick’s hard, your ass is twitching, but you don’t know what to do now. 

When you look over to Kyle you see Cartman on his knees in front of him, Kyle’s long dick disappearing in and out of the other man’s mouth. Kyle’s hand is clenched in Cartman’s hair as he throat-fucks him; wet, choking noises escaping from the shorter man every time Kyle pushes in or pulls out. The way Cartman is kneeling means you get a good look at his fucked open ass and the way it twitches and spasms, flashing the deep pink of his guts, every time Kyle hits his gag reflex. 

Well at least they’re having fun.

Maybe you should just give up. Next time you’re searching houses you might find an unused dildo.

“Don’t pout Princess,” Butters says, rubbing the shoulder that Stan kicked. He stops and looks at you, eyes serious “Want me to make you feel good?”A glance down at his lap tells you his dick is hard again. 

Butters’ dick makes you at least mildly nervous. It’s big. It’s about nine inches, which doesn’t sound like that much until you’re looking at it, but it is also scarily thick. Maybe even thicker than your wrist. Of all of you the only one who’s consistently happy to get it inside of them is Cartman, which is probably why it tends to smell like his ass.

“Ok,” you reply, a little hesitantly.

He reaches for you, dragging you into his lap so you can feel it rubbing up against your taint. He kisses you as he reaches for the lube, slicking up his fingers and pressing them up against your ass until they slip inside. You hiss at the sensation, grinding down on them as he fingers you. 

“You like that?” he asks. “Like my fingers up in your sweet little pussy?”

You groan, eyes rolling back, the words turning you on. “Come on,” you say, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging at it gently “Give it to me.”

“Wanna ride me?” he asks, kissing you again. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, come on.”

He pulls his fingers out and slicks up his dick with the lube, guiding it into place. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

You hiss as the head presses against you, your body resisting for a long moment, until it suddenly pops inside. “Jesusfuck!” you blurt out, ass burning. “Wait a minute.”

He stops, shushing you gently, his huge hands running softly up and down your sides. 

“Look at your pretty little titties,” he says, pinching at a nipple. You shudder more from the words than the sensation. “Pink and soft.” He leans in and sucks one into his mouth, biting gently. You shake in his arms, the burning in your ass lessening enough that you can start to press yourself down.

The two of you rock together slowly, your body still not ready to take him any faster. He whispers praise against your mouth between kisses, calling you pretty, still calling you ‘Princess.’ 

Butters is so big all over and you can’t help being aware of it. It makes you feel small and delicate in his arms, which is doing it for you even more. “Come on,” you say, leaning back and encouraging him to cover you with his body. “You gonna fuck me properly?”

His hips snap forward, shooting a good kind of burn up your spine. “Yeah, that’s right,” you sigh, luxuriating under him.

“You like that?” he asks, eyes on you, seeing nothing but you. Such a dark, clear blue. You feel pretty under his gaze and that makes you arch your spine and squeeze him with your thighs. “Want me to fill you up? Make your pussy all sticky?”

“God, shut up Butters,” you moan, your eyes rolling up. The last thing you want him to do is stop doing anything, but a man’s gotta have some pride.

He laughs, low and dirty, and grinds into you so he’s hitting your sweet spot just right. Eyes shut you swear and squeeze him tighter, yelping when you feel an unexpected hand close around your ankle. You look up to see Kyle peering at you from over Butters shoulder; as you watch they kiss, tongues moving wetly against each other. Kyle pulls back, pressing a brief, rough kiss to Butters’ lips before looking down at you once more. “He likes that,” he says to Butters, the hand on your ankle prying your leg from around the blond and lifting your foot towards Kyle’s face.

As Kyle sucks your big toe into his mouth you snort out a laugh and reflexively pull your foot away, feeling your ass clench down on Butters as you move. You’re kind of ambivalent about having your feet played with, it tickles more than anything else, but you know Kyle’s into it and you like it when whatever Kyle’s into also happens to be you. 

Kyle pulls your foot back towards his mouth and gently nips the tip of your toe, smirking when the tickling sensation makes you clench down again so that Butters swears. As Kyle continues playing with your foot you see Cartman heading towards you and wonder if Stan’s going to appear at any moment so they can all stare down at you while Butters is giving it to you.

“I have decided you are all cumming in my mouth,” Cartman declares haughtily, pushing limbs out of the way until he can bend down over you and swallow your dick whole. You suppose after Butters and Kyle you aren’t much of a challenge. You reach over and pinch the big, pink nipple of one of his tits, eyes rolling up in your head when it makes him gulp around your cock. It feels good being surrounded like this, covered and contained by their presence, though you do wish Stan was here too. 

Maybe he read your mind because you feel another body press close to your vacant side, and when you look over he presses a kiss to the skin of your forehead. “Stan,” you breathe out, shuddering when he reaches down past Cartman and cups your neglected balls.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he whispers against the side of your face and that’s it. That’s all you can take. Your body shakes, back arching up towards them all as you fall apart, squirting into Cartman’s mouth. 

Things are a little hazy for a while then, but when you come back to yourself you find that you’re propped up between Butters and Kyle as they watch Cartman sucking Stan off. Stan’s on his back, knees spread with Cartman’s bulk between them, soft little sighs escaping his mouth as Cartman’s head bobs up and down. Kyle and Butters kiss lazily for a while, before Cartman’s ass serves as too much temptation for Butters. He leaves you in Kyle’s arms as he buries his face there once more, making Cartman nearly choke and Stan let out a breathless wail. 

As Kyle lifts one of your hands to his mouth and presses sucking kisses to the tips of your fingers you can’t help think there are worse places to be if the world ends, or if the government nukes everyone you have left. Anyway, things will probably reset at some point and go back to normal. You wonder if you’ll even remember anything if they do.

One of Kyle’s long fingered hands slips down between your legs as he presses a kiss to where your shoulder meets your neck. “You wanna go get prettied up?” he whispers against your skin. “You look so pretty in pink.”

It would be a pity if you forgot.


End file.
